


You, Me, and History

by bibliosoph



Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: AU, M/M, Soulmates kinda, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:07:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26179225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bibliosoph/pseuds/bibliosoph
Summary: Alex is haunted by strange dreams that leave him feeling tired, sad, and generally rundown. One rainy night, he encounters a stranger who has the potential to bring him the greatest joy or the worst heartbreak: Henry.
Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, June Claremont-Diaz/Nora Holleran/Percy "Pez" Okonjo
Comments: 62
Kudos: 64





	1. Alex

Alex feels lost. It’s a rainy day in New York and he feels like every thought and feeling he’s been so desperate to push down for the past few weeks––months? years?––is coming up tonight. With graduation looming on the horizon, he finds himself constantly terrified of whatever happens after he gets his diploma. He has no real, concrete plans or even ideas for plans. It’s weird, too, because he _likes_ planning things out. He _likes_ thinking about the future and what to do and how he can fit into the world or, at least, he used to like that sort of thing. Something’s shifted in him recently, though he doesn’t know what, but it makes him feel like his skin is itchy. It makes him feel like he’s going to break out in some kind of allergic reaction whenever someone says anything about the future. The future, these days, scares the living _crap_ out of him. It’s all coming up now like bile in his throat. He’s walking the familiar streets of New York to June and Nora’s place where he’s been promised an evening of fun games with the two of them and their friend Pez. They’ve promised drinks, too, which would normally make Alex feel excited about the possibilities for a night of such fun, but all he feels right now is this aching numbness inside of him.

When he climbs the three flights of stairs up to the familiar apartment––passing people in the stairwell that know him by name––he doesn’t feel eager or excited for a night of promised entertainment. Instead, he feels like his feet are too heavy. He feels like his mind is too full or too empty though he hasn’t decided which one. Something is just… _off_. Something’s been very noticeably off for a few weeks now. It’s like he woke up one morning and some indecipherable hole had been ripped through his universe. The colors seemed different after that one morning––the world seemed to move a bit slower. The skies were more grey than normal. The problem with all of this is that he has no idea how to fix it. He has no idea what sort of missing puzzle piece will make everything snap back into place.

Maybe a night of mindless games and drinking will bring him one step closer to figuring it all out.

When June opens the door, she smiles and greets Alex with a hug. He used to like her hugs––they used to bring him comfort. Now he just gets the feeling that there’s something wrong here––like he’s not really even here at all. If he’s not here, where is he? It feels like he’s been split in half or something. It feels like there’s something out there that he’s missing but he doesn’t remember what it’s supposed to be. It’s like what he sees in his dreams––flashes of blue and tufts of blond hair. The dreams that appeared a few weeks ago and have since made everything in life seem bad and mundane. He doesn’t know what they mean or why they took his energy with them.

June frowns at him, obviously noticing how tense and miserable he looks. She puts a hand on his shoulder. “Alex,” she coos, “are you still having those nightmares?”

He shrugs her off and pushes his way inside, shedding his coat and hanging it up on one of the hooks by the door. “They’re not nightmares,” he huffs, feeling very weirdly protective of these strange dreams. He’s told June, Nora, and Pez about them, of course. The first one he kept a secret but then, when they started happening every night, he thought he should probably tell them and see if they had any advice. They didn’t. They still don’t.

“They make you miserable,” June protests.

He sort of grunts dismissively and sits down on the couch.

He used to be a ball of energy––even if he was sitting in a relaxed, comfortable environment, his leg would bounce or his hands would come together like magnets to fidget with each other. Now, though, he doesn’t have the energy for anything like that. He hardly has the energy to walk up those three flights of stairs.

Nora joins him on the couch and sets a hand on his leg to try and comfort him but he hardly even feels it.

He keeps thinking about those fucking dreams.

They’re not even dreams––not really. They’re flashes of blue, then of the blond hair, and there are tears, too, but they’re out of focus and he doesn’t know who they belong to. Something deep within his stomach urges him to figure this all out but he doesn’t really know where to begin. It’s unlike anything he’s ever heard of––he’s scoured the internet in hopes of finding something but always comes up empty. He thinks he might be going crazy––maybe this is all of the stress finally catching up to him and his mind is shutting down or something.

He’s so out of it that he doesn’t even realize they’ve already picked teams for charades––he and Pez are on a team, apparently. He tries to watch––he really does––and guess whatever Pez is miming, but his mind is somewhere else. He doesn’t know where he’s gone, though, which is driving him insane. _Where are you?_ he asks himself. Maybe he’s asking the blue and blond of his dreams––the person who’s crying. _Should I find you?_. No one ever replies.

The night is over shortly after that and Alex shrugs his coat back on, makes his half-hearted goodbyes, and walks back down the three flights of stairs. It’s still raining so he pulls his hood up as he walks, shoving his hands into his pockets as he waddles down familiar streets to his own apartment. He’s considering hailing a cab or something when he sees someone on the other side of the street.

It’s late––too late for someone to be out alone in the rain. He squints at them and sees that they’re seated on a bench by a light post with their head in their hands. They might be crying, he thinks. He doesn’t know for sure. Curious, he crosses the street to see if they need help or something. When he gets closer, he notices that this person––a man––is wearing strange attire. He’s wearing a fancy suit that looks out of place here––it looks like it’s from a museum or something. Maybe this guy works in a museum where they have to be in costume or something. There’s a top hat on the bench beside him––a big, silk thing. It’s not weird to see strange costumes in New York, but it’s weird to see someone in such a fancy costume sitting alone at midnight on a bench in the rain. Alex is intrigued, though––it’s the most he’s felt in a while.

“You okay?” he asks.

In the back of his mind, somewhere, he realizes that he probably shouldn’t be talking to this stranger.

The man looks up and Alex feels his heart nearly thump out of his chest. In the pale light of the blinking streetlight, Alex makes out a flash of blue eyes as they peer up at him and, now that the man’s face is painted in the light, he sees that he has blond hair. Blue and blond, just like Alex’s dreams.

He’s been crying, too, it seems, because his eyes are red and wet. He wipes at them and chuckles softly but the laughter doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“I’m fine,” he says. He’s British, Alex notes. “Thank you, sir.”

For a moment, Alex considers walking away. If the guys says he’s fine, he’s fine. But he thinks of those dreams again––the flashes of blue, blond, and tears––and feels like, somehow, this guy might be the missing piece of the puzzle. He shakes his head and sits down next to him, moving the top hat over to make room for himself.

“You’re on a bench at midnight in the rain and crying,” Alex points out. “You’re obviously _not_ fine.”

Those blue eyes look into his own and Alex feels something light up inside of him. “Just a bit…disoriented, I suppose. I assure you that I’m fine––I’ll manage.”

“Do you have a place to go?”

The man frowns at him. 

“Where do you live?”  
The man shakes his head. He can’t be much older than Alex. “Not around here,” he replies. “I wouldn’t even have the first clue on how to get back home.” 

Alex frowns. He feels bad for this guy, he thinks. He feels… _something_. It’s more than he’s felt in a while. 

“Well,” Alex sighs, “it’s really late. And it’s raining.”

“Yes,” the man agrees with a nod, “it is.”

“I can’t just leave you out here,” he admits. “You’ll catch a cold or, more likely, get beat up for…” he gestures to the man’s strange outfit, “whatever you’ve got going on here.”

“Where do you suggest I look for a room for the night. I haven’t got money or––”

“Just come back to my place,” Alex suggests, honestly surprised when the words leave his mouth. “I’ve, uh, got a couch you stay on. Just for the night. I’m too tired to really do anything but go home right now.”

“A…couch?”

Alex nods. “It’s super comfortable though,” he adds. “Promise.” 

The man takes a moment to think this over before he nods and extends a hand. “Thank you,” he says once Alex takes it and gives it a firm shake. “It really is very kind of you to offer your rooms to me for the night.”

Alex smiles and shrugs before he stands. He offers a hand to the man to help him up. The man takes it and, before standing, makes sure to grab his top hat. 

“I’m Alex, by the way,” Alex says.

“Henry.”


	2. Henry

Henry feels lost. Last night seems like it was a million years ago now. He distinctly recalls going to that dinner––one planned for him and Madeline––and then he remembers feeling like he couldn’t get enough air in. He had excused himself, promising to only be gone for a minute or so––he said he just needed to freshen up. He went to the powder room to try and calm his nerves––he stood at the vanity and looked at himself in the mirror, eyes wide and terrified, and then looked to the heavens. On this special day, he allowed himself one wish––a final request. He whispered the sacred words to the heavens and his own reflection and closed his eyes with tears still streaming down his cheeks. Knuckles white as he held onto the vanity. 

It’s the last thing he remembers. He whispered to the saints his wish and then, what felt like seconds later, he found himself in this strange place.

He doesn’t know where he is. All he knows is that the people here aren’t like him––they dress and speak and behave differently than the people he knows back home. The women here dress most peculiarly––short dresses or, miraculously, pants. Everyone seems to like talking to themselves whilst holding a strange, small, metallic box to their ears. It really is the most peculiar thing. The buildings are all unusually tall, too––big windows cover a majority of their exteriors. It’s not London––this much he knows––but he has no idea where he is.

Walking around has proved to be a challenge––no one stops for him or bows. Instead, he’s forced to walk with the people and figure out where exactly he’s supposed to be going. He went to a post office this morning but was laughed at when he claimed to be the Prince––they told him they had no prince. He has no idea where he is and he’s terrified and hungry and exhausted and everyone here keeps looking at him like he’s part of the circus or something. It’s completely unnerving.

It started raining a while ago and the darkness settled in. Unsure of where to go, he sat down on a bench and decided that there were worse places to be. He thought all hope was lost until _he_ came. 

Now Alex leads Henry back to his rooms and to this so-called “couch” where Henry will be allowed to sleep tonight. He has no idea what to expect and part of him fears that going off with a stranger was, perhaps, not the best thing to do, but he’s so tired and cold and hungry and Alex is the only person to have showed him any sort of kindness today. It helps that Alex is the most beautiful man that Henry has ever seen––he wonders, vacantly, if Alex would be comfortable to become Henry’s Gentleman of the Bedchamber.

“Where are we, exactly?” Henry inquires. He’s tried to stay mostly quiet as they walk the darkened streets, but his curiosity overtakes him.

“We’re near Washington Square Park,” Alex tells him. 

Henry frowns because the words are utterly meaningless to him. “What city is this?”

Alex stops in his tracks and turns around to face Henry, his eyes curious and, if Henry is reading him correctly, slightly amused. “Are you kidding?” 

Henry shakes his head.

“New York,” Alex tells him, smirking. “How did––Do you have memory loss or something?”

Now that Henry thinks about it, he supposes that it’s entirely possible he has memory loss. Just last night he was in the comforts of Buckingham––the only home he’s ever known––and this morning he woke up in a park in New York _bloody_ City in America. It seems only reasonable that, somehow, he hit his head in the powder room and that several days have passed. Who brought him here, though? And why did they leave him in a park?

“Maybe,” he admits, not wanting to think about it much.

They’re walking again but it’s only for a moment because then, suddenly, Alex stops and turns, gesturing to a small door of a building.

“This is it,” he says.

Henry looks at the tall, narrow building. It’s a bit small for a home, he thinks, but it will certainly do. He watches as Alex unlocks and opens the door, holding it open for Henry. Henry bows his head in appreciation as he enters. He then follows Alex up the stairs and down a narrow corridor to another door. The whole corridor is lined with doors––is this a boarding house or a hotel of some sort? Does Alex not own the entire building?

Alex’s rooms are small and dark. The decorations are sparse, too. It’s nothing like what Henry is accustomed to––there are no golden candelabras, no gorgeous lamps, no fireplaces. It’s a sad, peculiar set of rooms, he thinks. Alex doesn’t _look_ like he can’t afford his own home––he’s wearing a nice shirt and trousers. It’s no suit but, since Henry has hardly seen anyone wearing a suit here, he thinks that they probably just aren’t too important.

“Do you have a powder room?” Henry asks. He touches the table in the corner and feels dust coat his fingers.

“Uh, yeah,” Alex says. He points down another small corridor. “It’s at the end there.”

“Could you draw me a bath?” Henry asks. He’s still soaking wet and freezing––a bath should do him some good, though.

Alex has the audacity to laugh at him. Henry doesn’t understand why this is funny. It would be ridiculous for him to draw his own bath––doesn’t Alex know that he’s a prince? Can’t Alex tell that he’s royalty?

“Now I’m scared that you’re not joking,” Alex says.

“I assure you,” Henry says with a smile, “that I am completely serious.”

Alex folds his arms across his chest and leans back against one of the dirty-looking walls. “I can help you turn it on,” he offers, “but I’m not, like, gonna wash you or anything.”

“Oh,” Henry frowns, unsure of what to do with this information.

Alex huffs and grabs Henry’s hand, leading him towards the powder room.

There’s a small, porcelain tub-like contraption in one corner. It doesn’t look like the cleanest thing in the world, but Henry is so cold and tired that he’s really beyond caring at this point. Alex turns on the water, letting it run for a moment.

“This is how you make it hotter,” he explains, twisting one of the knobs, “and this one makes it colder. When it’s filled up, just turn them both off like this.” 

Henry watches and nods, hoping he’ll be able to remember all of this. “And your soap?”

Alex hands him a strange bottle. Then Alex fetches a towel and sets it on the ground by the bath and, without another word, leaves. Henry doesn’t even have the chance to give him his clothing––he’ll need it washed by morning since it’s all he has with him.

He strips and steps into the bath, nearly moaning when the hot water makes contact with his skin. He sinks down into the tub and closes his eyes. Maybe, if he’s lucky, he’ll wake up in the morning and be back in Buckingham.


	3. Alex

Alex wakes up to soft sunlight pouring in from the window of his room. He rubs his tired, sleep-caked eyes and rolls over to try and get a few more precious minutes of sleep but finds the feeling of breath on his nose. He opens his eyes and finds himself face-to-face with a familiar blond-haired, blue-eyed person. A person that is still very much asleep and looking pretty content, if he’s being honest. Well, Alex is having none of this. Gently, he slides one hand onto Henry’s shoulder and shakes him. 

“Wake up,” Alex says, his voice still croaky from sleep. “Seriously, dude, wake the fuck up.”

Henry’s blue, innocent eyes blink open for a moment before closing again. He yawns and smiles before nuzzling back into the blankets. “Good morning,” he says. “I had the most peculiar dream.”

Alex stares at him in disbelief. “Cool. Why are you in my bed?”

Henry frowns at him and looks around like he isn’t sure how he got here. As soon as they make eye contact, Henry jumps into a seated position and looks frightened. “Christ, where am I?”

“In my bed for some reason,” Alex huffs.

“In New York?” 

Alex nods.

“I thought I’d dreamt it,” Henry whispers. “I can’t––How am I still here?”

It’s around this time that Alex begins to feel like a complete idiot for inviting this random guy over. With each new comment, Alex gets the sneaking position that there’s something wrong with him. Alex just hopes he isn’t a serial killer or something.

“Nothing you say makes any fucking sense,” Alex mumbles, rubbing the spot between his eyebrows. He closes his eyes and sighs, trying to figure out his next move here. How can he nicely ask this man to leave?

He pulls out his phone and sees a message from June that says she wants to come over for breakfast––a late one. Alex rolls his eyes and begins to type out a response to let her know that he’s a little too busy for that, but then Henry snatches the phone out of his hands and starts turning it over and examining it.

“Hey!” Alex protests, trying to get it back.

Henry turns away from him and studies the device. “What _is_ this? I keep seeing people with them…strangest little things.” 

Alex’s eyes widen. “You don’t––You don’t know what a phone is? Do you live under a rock or something?” 

“In a castle, actually,” Henry replies, voice soft as he strokes the sleek sides of the phone. “What does it do?”

Alex quickly grabs it again and holds it close to his chest. “It’s for communicating with people,” he explains. “And looking at funny videos. And getting into heated Twitter debates with celebrities.”

“A phone? You can talk to people on that, yes?” 

Alex nods, still feeling a bit like his life might be in danger. 

“Do you think I could call home with it? Surely they’re missing me.”

“Do you know the phone number?” Alex asks, eyebrow raised.

Henry frowns. “No. What’s the phone number for Kensington Palace?”

Alex can’t help but laugh at the absurd idea that Henry, this strange man who knows nothing about the world or how to dress, lives in Kensington. “Yeah, I don’t think they talk random people’s calls.”

“I’m not a random person,” Henry huffs, folding his arms across his chest and sticking his chin out. “I happen to the Prince of Wales. If you could treat me as such, that would be greatly appreciated.” 

Upon hearing this, Alex feels less threatened and more amused. He figures he should play along, just for some form of entertainment. This will make a great story one day. “Prince of Wales, huh?” he asks, using the same voice he would use to talk to a child. “Let’s see…what’s your name? I can look you up on Google and see if that’s right.”

Without blinking, Henry says, “Henry George Edward James Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor.”

Alex stares at him, completely gobsmacked. “That’s _not_ your fucking name,” Alex says, typing it in any way.

“I think I know my own name,” Henry argues. 

Alex is already opening his mouth to tell Henry that he’s wrong when he looks down and sees that, surprisingly, there are a _fuck_ ton of results for this name. He clicks the first one––the guy’s Wikipedia article––and reads it. 

Well, at least Alex knows that he’s lying. It says this man was born in 1866 which is, of course, not fucking possible. Henry looks no older than Alex does––he would be a deadman or a sack of bones or whatever by now if he was born in 1866. Alex can’t help but smile because he knows, once again, that he’s right. Still, though, for the sake of entertainment, he reads part of it allowed. “You’re telling me that you’re the Prince of Wales?” Alex asks.

Henry nods. 

“Interesting,” Alex hums, scrolling through the page. “The same one who disappeared the night before his wedding in 1889, never to be seen again?”

Henry frowns. “Missing?”

“Yeah. Never found. You’re telling me this guy,” he says, scrolling down more until he finds a picture, “is you?” 

He stares at the image on his phone for a moment. It’s some kind of oil painting, he thinks. Blond hair, blue eyes, a soft smile. The same jawline. It’s the mirror image of Henry––they look identical. “This _is >_…you.” It’s impossible, surely. There’s no way that this is real––Henry just probably looks the exact same as this dude. Time travel isn’t real––it can’t be the same person. Right? But Henry’s face turns up at the image when he sees it––it looks like this painting is familiar to him or something. Like he was actually _there_.

“I hate that one,” he groans. “I had to sit still for so long and my hair looks odd and flat.”

Alex is still speechless. He keeps looking between the picture and the guy in his bed––they’re the same fucking person. He sees that but he doesn’t understand how it could be possible. This man, Henry, went missing in 1889. He should be dead by now. He should be ash or bones or a mummy or whatever, not sitting in Alex’s bed looking like a handsome Disney prince. He shouldn’t be…Alex puts the phone down and turns to face Henry completely.

“Henry,” he says carefully, “what year is it?”

“1889,” Henry replies. “Why?”

Alex groans. Shakes his head. He still doesn’t understand this. “It’s not,” he says, unsure of how to really break the news to him. “It’s 2020.”

Henry frowns. “Can’t be,” he offers, as simple as that.

“Weren’t you wondering why people dress differently? What cell phones were?” 

Henry shrugs. “I’ve never paid much attention to America,” he says. “I’ve never visited. Do you have any idea how long that trip is?”

“It’s about six hours,” Alex says. “On a _plane_. Another great invention we have. Like movies and running water.” 

“We have running water,” Henry huffs. “I––” He stares at Alex for a moment and then starts laughing. 

Alex is scared again.

“Oh, I see,” Henry says, still laughing. “Quite entertaining. Where did she hire you, hm? The bloody Globe Theater?”

“I’m not an actor,” Alex says. He isn’t sure why he feels so defensive about this, but he does. “I’m telling you the truth. It’s 2020––people think you’ve been missing or dead or whatever for, like, over a century. We learn about you in fucking European History classes. Henry: The Missing Prince.” 

Henry’s face pales. “You mean to…Christ,” he mumbles, putting his head in his hands. “I’m an idiot.”

Alex opens his mouth to protest that he’s not an idiot and that this is just fucking weird when there’s a knock on his door followed by June’s voice. 

“Shit,” he says, flying out of bed to get dressed.

Henry stares at him, still looking terrified of this revelation. “What?”

“It’s my sister,” Alex says, slipping into a pair of jeans. He throws a pair at Henry, too, and they hit him in the face. “Put those on.”

Henry stands and does as he’s told. 

Alex pulls out two shirts, keeping one for himself and throwing the other one to Henry. “That, too.”

As soon as Alex is dressed, he rushes out of the room to let June in or, hopefully, to convince her to just go away. As it turns out, he doesn’t even have the chance. As soon as he opens the door, even just a bit, she shoves her way inside.

“I texted you, like, hours ago,” she says, looking around his apartment. She frowns when she spots the dying succulent by the window. “Nora’s going to be pissed that you killed another one.”

“Yeah,” Alex says, really not knowing what to say. “Look, Bug, I’m kind of in the middle of––”

Just then, Henry stumbles out of Alex’s room. June’s eyes widen as she looks at him––his disheveled hair, his red eyes, his pants that are unbuttoned and unzipped. Alex sprints over and tugs Henry’s shirt down so the button and zipper aren’t visible. When he turns back around, June’s lips are pursed into a thin line to hide her shit-eating grin.

“Oh,” she says, eyes sparkling, “I didn’t know you had _company_.”

Alex wants to bang his head into the wall. “He’s not––”

“Hello,” Henry says, cutting him off and approaching June with his hand outstretched. “I’m Prince Henry of––”

“It’s a role-playing game,” Alex interrupts, putting an arm around Henry’s waist and squeezing so he stops talking. “It’s this whole thing. He’s the prince and I’m the slutty servant.” He turns to Henry. “ _Babe_ ,” he says, faking a big smile, “I thought I told you to keep that to the bedroom.”

Henry nods and closes his mouth, finally getting the hint. His ears turn pink.

“So…” June says, looking back and forth between them. “This has been sufficiently awkward. Henry, it was nice to meet you. Alex…just text me next time, okay?”

Alex shoots her a thumbs-up and watches as she, thankfully, leaves the apartment. As soon as she’s gone, Henry turns to face him with wide eyes and a panicked look on his face.

“Are you _mad_?” he gasps. “What if she tells someone?”

Alex blinks back at him, unsure of how to proceed or what the fuck he’s talking about. “What?”

“That you like men,” Henry explains. “You really should be more careful.”

“Welcome to the twenty-first century,” Alex says. “It’s fine. She knows and most people don’t care.”

Henry frowns. “You mean to tell me that, here, in this time, that sort of thing is allowed?”

Alex rolls hie eyes. “Yeah, asshat. If you’ve got a problem with it, find somewhere to stay.” 

Henry opens his mouth then quickly closes it again. He takes a deep breath. “I don’t care,” he says. “It’s––This is all just so new to me. This world.” 

Alex feels his face soften. It’s weird for him, of course, but he can’t even imagine what it must be like for Henry. Henry, the Missing Prince. Henry, the one who has just been somehow magically thrown into the twenty-first century. How _did_ Henry get here? How does Alex get him home? He wants to ask but Henry looks drained from the realization of it all and Alex doesn’t want to make him feel miserable right now. Instead, he offers Henry a slight smile. 

“How about you go sit on the couch,” he suggests, gesturing to it, “and I’ll make us some breakfast.”

Henry nods, still looking like he’s in shock. “Erm, yes. That sounds nice.”

Alex shoves his hands into his pockets. “Do you, uh, need anything else? Water or something?” 

“A tea, if you have it,” Henry says softly. 

Alex nods. He’s pretty sure Pez has some stashed away somewhere. While he makes breakfast and tea, he looks over at Henry who had curled up into a ball on the couch. He’s staring straight ahead, not doing anything, and Alex feels his heart break a little at the sight of him. He promises himself to help Henry get home––to help Henry be happy again.


	4. Henry

While Alex prepares breakfast and tea, Henry finds himself staring blankly ahead and unable to move as his brain attempts to process this new information. He tries to think back to the day before––to the moments he spent at the party and then locked away in the bathroom with his knuckles white as they held onto the marble counter for dear life. The man that had looked back at him in that reflection, a man with red, teary eyes, is not the man he is right now, he thinks. Right now, Henry isn’t sad or upset about anything. He’s just _terrified_. How did he go from the beautiful halls of Buckingham Palace to the dirty streets of New York? How did he go from the time he had been born and raised into the twenty-first century? None of it makes sense to him. Magic isn’t real and, yet, here he is. Some stroke of luck, perhaps, or maybe something more sinister. He tries to think back––tries to entertain all sorts of possibilities. Perhaps it was the wish, the one he muttered to the heavens, that brought him to this desolate, grimy place. If it was that wish, he doesn’t understand how New York in 2020 makes it come true. There’s nothing for him here and he doesn’t understand how he could be any better off here than he was back with his family in London. With the life he knew.

Alex comes over and hands him a plate of eggs and toast before getting steaming mug down on the low table in front of the couch. Alex sits beside him on the couch and puts his own plate in his lap. “Sorry if the tea is kinda shit,” Alex says, gesturing to the steaming mug. “I only make coffee, so.”

Henry shoots him a weak smile. “I’m sure it will be fine.”

Alex smiles back and then digs into his plate. Henry does the same. The two of them eat in silence for a few minutes and the only sounds heard in this flat are the sounds of the silverware clanking against the plates and the thuds of the mugs being set back on the table. The silence is driving Henry crazy. Though he does not know Alex well, he knows him well enough, he thinks, to know that Alex surely has a lot to say about this. Alex is a firecracker and to see him so still and silent seems uncanny and unsettling to Henry. After a few minutes, he’s had enough of this. 

“ _Alex_ ,” he sighs, setting his plate aside and facing Alex, “say something. _Please_.” 

Alex frowns and sets his own plate down, too. “What do you want me to say?” 

Henry shrugs. He doesn’t know how he wants this conversation to go, only that he needs to have it. He needs someone to help him work through all of this and figure out how he can get home. The sooner they get this out of the way, the sooner Henry can be back in Buckingham with Bea and Philip and his mum. 

“Are you…” Alex says. His voice trails off and he pulls awkwardly at his curls. “I mean, do you have, like, magic or something?”

Henry’s eyes widen. “Magic isn’t real,” Henry says, certain of it. 

“So _science_ brought you here? Some sort of experiment or something?”

He frowns at Alex’s implications. “No,” he admits.

Alex readjusts himself on the couch. “Okay, so magic _has_ to be real. I mean, how else would you be here?” 

“Right,” Henry agrees. “I didn’t do it though, I don’t think. It’s not like I said some sort of incantation or something or had a virgin sacrifice.” 

Alex snorts then purses his lips together like he isn’t sure if he’s allowed to laugh. “Well, clearly _something_ happened,” he argues, “because you’re here. What do you remember? Were you cursed or something? What was the last thing that happened before you came here?”

Henry thinks back to that wretched night––to how Madeline looked in her fancy gown for the dinner and how his entire family looked so happy because he was finally marrying someone. “It was the night before my wedding,” he says, “which the magic communication box already told you.”

Alex rolls his eyes. “First of all, it’s called a _phone_. Second of all, I mean like what specifically happened right before you came here?”

“I excused myself,” Henry recalls. “I needed…a moment. Pre-wedding jitters and all.” 

He very pointedly does not mention that he had jitters because the thought of marrying a woman made his heart sink in his chest, and he very pointedly does not mention that he finds Alex to be the most beautiful person he’s ever had the luck to see. Instead, he keeps his mouth shut and waits for Alex to say something. 

“You excused yourself where? What did you do?”

“I went to the bathroom,” Henry explains. “I just…I sort of looked at myself in the mirror for a moment. That’s it.”

Alex doesn’t seem convinced. “What are you leaving out?” 

“Nothing.” 

Alex rolls his eyes. “I’m trying to help you,” he reminds him, “and I can’t do that if you don’t tell me what happened.”

“Fine,” Henry huffs. “I made a wish.”

“What kind of wish?”

“A private wish,” Henry says. 

Telling Alex his wish seems like it might change things somehow. It feels like it might ruin whatever balance they’ve struck here and that, once Alex knows his wish, that Alex will want to make it come true instead of just sending him home. Henry doesn’t need the wish to come true to want to return to his time and life. It’s the right thing for him to do now, regardless of whatever silly prayer he whispered to the sky that night. Wishes don’t come true. Wishes, his brother would probably tell him, aren’t for princes. 

“Fine,” Alex concedes, not pushing the issue anymore. “So, how the fuck are we supposed to get you home?”

Henry shrugs. “There must be some sort of connection,” Henry muses. “Something that ties this place to where I’m from.”

Alex hums in agreement as he thinks about some sort of possible connection––something that would tie Henry’s old world to this new one. Henry himself can’t think of a single thing that would make sense here. There doesn’t seem to be any sort of reason for him to be here in twenty-first-century New York City. He’s a prince of a time long since passed and this new world is surely not meant for him or an answer to his prayers.

But then, when he looks over at Alex––still deep in thought––he wonders if maybe there _is_ a reason he’s here.

_“Welcome to the twenty-first century. It’s fine. She knows and most people don’t care.”_

Could this be the reason? Could he be here because here, in this new time, he can exist simply as he is? The prospect of living a life true to himself is thrilling and terrifying. He can’t imagine walking down the street, his hands interlocked with a boy’s, and just simply existing. He’s always thought that this part of him was the most unforgivable aspect of himself––it’s always been the part he’s had to hide away from his family and the public and, on occasion, himself. But Alex says that it’s normal here––people might actually _accept_ this part of Henry without even batting an eye. Maybe this is why he’s here––maybe this is the answer to his prayers and wishes. He doesn’t know how he feels about all of this yet. He’s still trying to wrap his mind around the whole time travel aspect of this strange journey.

“You’re thinking too hard,” Alex notes, his brown eyes staring at Henry’s face.

Henry feels himself flush under his gaze. “No, I’m not.” 

“You are,” Alex argues, pointing to the crease between Henry’s eyebrows. “You get a crease right there when you’re thinking.”

Henry frowns and tries to push down how he feels about Alex already knowing his body language so well. “I’ve just discovered that I’ve been misplaced in time,” Henry says, “so forgive me for ‘thinking too hard’ about that.” 

Alex rolls his eyes like Henry’s excuse isn’t all that convincing. “There’s not much you can do about it now. We can look stuff up, which probably won’t do shit, so you’re kinda just stuck here for now.” 

“Thanks for reminding me.”

“What I’m _trying_ to say,” Alex huffs, “is that, while you’re here, you should at least have a good time.”

Henry’s frown deepens. “Have a good time?”

Alex nods, clearly unwilling to change his mind about this. “We’re gonna go sightseeing,” he proclaims, jumping up from the couch. “We’re gonna see all that the Big Apple has to offer––the Empire State Building, the Statue of Liberty, the museums. _All_ of it.”

Henry thinks about this for a moment––about going around the city with Alex as his guide. It would be nice, he supposes, to get a better sense of this new time. It will be dangerous, he thinks, to march around the city with a boy who is making his cheeks flush and his heart pound in his eardrums. He won’t be here forever, though, and when he returns home, this won’t be an option anymore. This is, literally, the only chance he’ll ever have to truly be himself. 

He stands up. “I’m in.”


	5. Alex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Henry eats McDonald's for the first time.
> 
> Come find me on tumblr @bibliothesoph

It is important to note that Alexander Gabriel Claremont-Diaz hates tourists traps more than anything else in New York. The long, over-crowded lines make him fidgety and anxious and, most of the time, the lines aren’t even worth it. Somehow, despite this, he finds himself waiting in a ridiculously long line for the Empire State Building’s observation deck. It seemed like a good first step on their sight-seeing tour since it has a great view of the city and is likely to be the first sky-scraper that Henry has been in. Unfortunately, the line is really fucking long. They’ve already been here for thirty minutes and they’re just now getting to the front of the line. The photographer summons them with an impatient wave, hoping to get their picture in front of the green screen as a money grab. 

“We don’t need a picture,” Alex tells her, hoping to just push through and get to the observation deck.

“Oh, could we?” Henry asks, his eyes big and blue and innocent.

Alex rolls his eyes and drags Henry over to the green screen for a quick photo. He slaps on a fake smile and, from the corner of his eye, he sees Henry beaming as he waves at the camera. The photographer hands Alex a slip so he can get the picture on the way out. 

“Why did they have that strange green background?” Henry asks as they shuffle to the elevator that will take them up to the observation deck. 

“They’ll photoshop the building in later,” Alex explains. The doors close. 

The elevator starts to take them up, jostling a bit as it starts to move. 

“What’s a photoshop?” Henry asks. 

Alex waves him off, focusing on the digital number going up as the elevator rises. “It’s a twenty-first-century thing.” 

The elevator lurches to a stop and the doors open out onto the observation deck. Eager to get this over with, Alex guides Henry to the railing so he can get his fill of the view. It’s cold up here and Alex is already completely over all of this––he just wants some coffee. Something to warm him up and take the edge off.

“ _Christ_ ,” Henry gasps as he takes in the view. “I can’t believe you get to live here.” 

Alex chuckles because he can’t help it. “You literally have your own country.” 

Henry sighs and presses up against the fence in an attempt to get a better look at the sprawling city below. “It’s not mine anymore.” 

While Henry looks at this city, his eyes blown wide as he takes it in, Alex looks at him. It’s weird that Henry is getting this strange glimpse of the modern world before he returns to his own time. He’ll have so many stories that no one would ever believe––tales about building that graze the sky and vast cities that spread for miles across concrete earth. He’ll have stories about phones and computers and televisions and all of it will be completely true but no one in their right mind will believe a word of it. Alex can’t help but wonder if Henry has a family he’s eager to get back to––a family that might actually believe this tale just because they trust him and love him. He hasn’t gotten the sense that Henry was really happy back in his time, but he doesn’t want to assume. Maybe Henry is just excited to be here for a bit. Maybe he just needed a bit of a break. Alex gets that, of course––these past few weeks have made him feel like he needs to get away for a bit, too.

Though he isn’t entirely sure what compels him––Henry’s wide eyes, the dopey grin on his face––Alex finds himself sliding his phone out of his pocket and opening it to the camera. 

“Want a picture?” he asks, holding up his phone. “We could make, like, a scrapbook or something.”

It’s clear that Henry doesn’t understand a lot of that, but he gets enough of it to nod and poses in front of the fence. There’s a tower viewer next to him that looks a bit like a creepy face or something, but all Alex can really focus on is the bright smile on Henry’s face and the excited twinkle in his eyes. He snaps the photo, finding it a bit funny to see this misplaced prince standing in the Empire State Building while wearing one of Alex’s NYU sweatshirts––one that’s just a bit too small for Henry and looks like a tight-fitting shirt on him. Alex shows Henry the picture, just to see if he’s okay with this one or if he wants another one. Henry smiles softly at the image of himself, looking a bit like he might cry from overwhelming happiness or something. Alex clears his throat and slips the phone back into his pocket. 

“So, you like it?” 

Henry nods and his blond hair flops with the motion. “Very much. I’ve never been this high up before.” 

“You should go on a plane sometime,” Alex suggests. “It’s like looking at a completely different world.”

“I already _am_ looking at a completely different world,” Henry reminds him with a soft smile. “I can’t even imagine cities in my time looking like this. Comparatively, London looks like a quaint village.”

“You should see Big Ben,” Alex tells him. “That’s pretty tall.”

Henry raises an eyebrow at him. “The Palace of Westminster was built ages ago,” Henry tells him. “We’ve had it for quite some time. Even the new version.”

“New version?” 

Henry nods. “The original was destroyed in a fire. But the new one has been around for…well, since before I was born.”

“And here I thought I’d be the one teaching you stuff,” Alex grins.

Henry smiles back at him and slides his hands into his pockets. The jeans are too small on him, too. They look a bit ridiculous at the ankles. “Well, maybe you should have paid more attention in your history classes, hm?”

Alex rolls his eyes and playfully shoves Henry’s shoulder a bit with his own. “I _did_ pay attention, you ass. We just didn’t learn every tiny detail about British buildings.” He pauses for a moment. “Can I call you an ass or is that, like, treason or something?”

Henry shrugs. “I’m not a prince anymore,” he reminds him, “so I suppose you can call me whatever you’d like.”

A new wave of people emerge from the elevator and Alex starts to feel sweaty as they all push their way through the crowd, jostling people as they go by. It’s far too crowded up here now––he feels himself start to get a bit fidgety. 

“Had your fill of the view?” 

Henry nods. “I suppose.” 

“Okay, cool. Next stop lunch. Then we’ll see about a museum or something. Maybe the Statue of Liberty.” 

Henry nods and follows Alex through the crowd as he maneuvers his way to the elevator. They go back down and stop at the desk to get their photograph from earlier––the one where Henry is waving idiotically at the camera with a dopey grin on his face. They laugh at the picture for a moment before they head all the way back down to the main floor of the building and then out onto the crowded New York City streets in search of a good place for some lunch. Alex decides that McDonald's is their best bet since it’s one of the most prominent parts of what he is now calling the “Modern American Experience.” Henry looks dubious but obliges, following Alex into the nearest McDonald's. 

“What _is_ this place?” Henry asks, his eyes wide in horror as he looks at the massive burgers and the steaming piles of fresh, salty fries. 

“American fast food, sweetheart,” Alex says. “Do you want chicken nuggets or a burger?”

Henry looks baffled by the question. “What are those? Food?” 

Alex rolls his eyes. “Didn’t y’all at least have burgers?” 

Henry shakes his head. “I’m afraid not. Do they have tea here? I could eat some scones or something––those would be fine.”

“Next,” the cashier shouts, loud enough to be heard over the usual Mcdonald's pandemonium. Alex rolls his eyes and, yanking Henry by the elbow, drags him up to the register.

“Hi,” he says, smiling at the cashier who looks like he’s completely over the bullshit of this over-crowded McDonalds. “Can we get two Big Mac meals with Cokes?”

The cashier nods and types in the order. “Twelve fifteen,” he says. 

Alex hands him a twenty and waits for the change and his receipt with the order number on it. He pulls Henry over to a small table by the counter where they’ll pick up their food when it’s ready, gesturing for Henry to sit down. Henry does, looking very nervous about the state of the greasy table and the creaky, swiveling chair. 

“What on earth did you just order?” 

“A Big Mac,” Alex grins. “You’ll hate it. Might upset your delicate, British sensibilities. Maybe it’ll be enough to just, like, _yeet_ you back home.” 

“Fantastic,” Henry mumbles. 

They call their number sooner than Alex expects. As soon as he hears it, and double-checks the number on the receipt, he rushes up to grab the tray of burgers, drinks, and hot food. With a sly smile, he brings it back over to the table and sets it down between them. He looks to Henry to see his reaction but the only thing visible right now are the fries and those, he supposes, aren’t all that exciting. He grabs one of the boxes and opens it to reveal Henry’s Big Mac. Henry’s eyes double in size as he stares at the massive concoction of meat, cheese, and bread. 

“Christ,” he says, “how are you meant to _eat_ that?” 

“With your hands, sweetheart,” Alex says, opening his own. He takes a swig of his Coke. “That’s how we do it here.” 

“You are all barbarians,” Henry admonishes. 

“Yeah, yeah. Now shut up and eat your cow parts.” He gets out his phone, ready to snap a picture as soon as Henry takes the first bite. 

Henry swallows nervously and picks up his burger––holding it firmly in both hands––and slowly takes a bite of it. Alex snaps a picture before it’s too late.

Alex wants to make a comment about how he’s surprised Henry’s mouth opens so wide but he keeps the comment to himself, focusing instead on Henry’s hilarious facial reactions as he takes the first bite of the burger. He sets it down while he chews, looking up as if something in the sky will let him know if it’s okay to like this. 

“Well?” 

Henry swallows and grins. “Positively delicious.”


	6. Henry

Henry feels like he’s being courted. He’s never really _been_ courted before, though he supposes he courted the girl he was supposed to marry, but this feels entirely different. Whenever Alex’s face breaks out into that blinding smile, Henry feels his heart race in his chest and threaten to leap out of his body completely. Alex is showing him the world from his perspective––he’s guiding Henry through this new time with a bright smile on his face and an accent like honey. When he goes home, Henry thinks that he’ll hold onto these memories for as long as he lives. He wants to commission a portrait of Alex for his room, just so he can gaze upon his face every morning and night and remember what it felt like to feel truly _alive_ for once. He’s even starting to feel like that wish he made in the mirror that night, the one that most likely started this whole mess, might actually come true. It’s a silly thought, probably, but it doesn’t stop him from holding onto it and wishing it into existence.

Men can be with men in this time. That’s what Alex told him. And Henry knows for a fact that Alex is interested in men so, maybe, all of these smiles and lingering touches are more than just friendly. Maybe Alex wants Henry the same way that Henry wants him. Maybe his skin is alight with every graze of their fingertips and maybe his heart skips a beat whenever they share a sweet smile. Maybe none of this is in Henry’s head at all but playing out in reality and, somehow, Alex is hinting that he wants Henry, too. Henry doesn’t know what to do with all of this, though––he doesn’t know how to ask Alex if he likes him like that. Surely Alex would have said something by now, right? Or, perhaps, Alex _does_ like him but doesn’t want to admit it because, inevitably, Henry will return home. Maybe Alex doesn’t want to get his hopes up just to have them come crashing down all around him.

Alex takes him to the Statue of Liberty––he buys Henry a ridiculous foam, green, pointy hat so he can laugh at him for it and take pictures on his phone. He buys Henry an ice cream, too, even though it’s a bit cold outside, and wipes it off the tip of Henry’s nose when it sticks there. And Henry thinks that _this_ is what happiness is supposed to feel like––wild and chaotic and completely free. Whatever happiness he might have felt at home in Kensington is nothing compared to the feeling that Alex gives him as they dash through the city and get burgers and take pictures of magnificent buildings. It’s nothing compared to the feeling that blooms in his chest when Alex takes Henry’s hand in his own to guide him through a crowd or across a busy street. 

They return to Alex’s flat later that evening, both completely wiped from the long day they’ve spent in the city.

“We should order pizza,” Alex tells him.

Henry raises an eyebrow. “Pizza?” 

Alex rolls his eyes at him, nudging him playfully with his elbow. “It’s a kind of food, Your Highness,” he says. “It’s really good and we don’t even have to go anywhere––they’ll bring it here.” 

“Fascinating,” Henry marvels, sitting down on the couch. Alex nods in agreement and sits down next to him, producing a small rectangle from somewhere between the cushions. He points it to the black box sitting in front of the couch and, as if by magic, the box bursts with color and sound. Henry stares at it in shock, not understanding what he’s seeing. 

“What’s this?” he asks, pointing to the box that now reads “Insignia” across a white, blinding background. “Another magical thing like your phone?” 

“You have to stop calling it magic,” Alex laughs, “because it’s just technology. And this is a television.”

“What’s the purpose of a, erm, television?” Henry inquires, leaning back a bit as Alex fiddles with the rectangle in his hand. The box switches to say “Netflix” in red letters.

“It lets you watch movies. Or, uh, films? Were those a thing for you?” 

Henry nods, recalling a fascinating one with little horses.

“Cool, so, what kind of movies do you like?”

“There are different types?”

“You’re impossible,” Alex says. He hands Henry the rectangle. “This button goes up, this one goes down, these two go to the side. The middle one is how you click on something. Go nuts, okay? I’m gonna order the pizza.” Alex gets up, leaving Henry alone with the rectangle and the buttons on it. 

Henry nods and starts to use the buttons to navigate the strange thing, realizing that the buttons make things happen on the box. He’s delighted by the revelation and moves through the options, finding that, once he stops at one, a window appears with people and sound. He hears British accents in one of them and clicks on it, happy to catch a glimpse of his country in today’s word.

“Help everyone explore new worlds and ideas,” the box tells him, showing him something that says “be more,” then a strange circle with a face inside of it, “PBS.” “Support your PBS station,” the thing demands. 

“I will,” Henry tells it, hoping that his words will make something happen. “I promise.” 

The box changes after he speaks, showing some sort of brick fence and a woman who comes out from behind it while waving. Another woman appears behind her. “Hello, you,” one of the women tells him.

“Hi,” he says back. 

“Come this way.” 

He squints at the box, wondering where exactly he’s supposed to go, but the women start walking and the box follows them.

“This is good,” the other woman, dressed in pink, says. “This is very good. We have got twelve oven-fresh bakers raring to get into the tent with, oh, just a mere thirty challenges between them and the title.” 

The box shifts to show the twelve bakers behind the two women, each of them dressed in the same brown apron. 

There’s a dip in the sofa––Alex is back. “Oh,” he says, looking at the television, “ _Bake-Off_? Nice.”

Henry frowns. “I don’t understand this,” he says as the people keep talking on the box, ignoring him. “Do they know we’re here?” 

Alex stares at him for a moment. “I thought you said you had movies?” 

“Only a few,” Henry protests. “And they would have likely been over by now. And how can we hear them? And why is the world colorful?” 

Alex groans. “Okay,” he says, shifting a bit to face Henry, “here’s the deal. You’re not going to talk, okay? You’re just going to sit back and watch.” 

“But they keep talking to me,” he huffs, gesturing to the women who are still facing him and talking. “It would be rude not to respond.” 

“They’re not––” Alex groans and pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’ve seen plays, right?” 

Henry nods. 

“Okay, great. So, think of this as a play. It’s the same thing but they’re on the television instead of in a theater. When an actor talks in a play, you know they’re not talking to you, right? And you know not to talk to them while they’re on stage?” 

Henry nods. “Of course,” he says, “because that would be rude.” 

“ _Exactly_. So just watch it and don’t talk, okay? The pizza will be here soon.” 

So, as per these instructions, Henry sits back and watches it all unfold. As it turns out, it’s quite interesting––the bakers have to compete against each other in a series of tasks. The pretty pastels of the tent calm Henry’s nerves and make him feel like he’s floating on some sort of pastry cloud in a sunset sky. It’s truly a great feeling to watch, especially since he can watch this from the comfort of Alex’s couch instead of having to go all of the way to a theater. He hopes he can stick around and get to see more of this. 

When the pizza comes, they eat it while they watch. They watch a few “episodes,” as Alex tells them they’re called, then Alex brings over a bottle of whiskey and two glasses, setting them down on the coffee table and offering one to Henry. Henry accepts.

“So,” Alex says, taking a sip from his own drink, “how are you liking the Big Apple?” 

“It’s quite lovely, actually,” Henry says. “I wish I lived here, honestly. Things are so much…better, I suppose?” 

Alex chuckles at that and takes another swig of his drink. 

“What?” Henry asks.

“I mean, sure, we’ve got technology or whatever, but the planet is dying and our president is an insane orange and shit’s just kinda rough.” 

“Well, I find it better than my time.” 

Alex moves so he’s a bit closer to Henry and Henry feels his breath hitch in his throat. He covers it with a sip of whiskey, hoping Alex can’t hear the erratic pounding of his heart. “What’s your time like?” 

“Grey, mostly,” Henry muses. “My gran, the Queen, is…strict, to say the least.” 

Alex frowns and grabs another slice of pizza. “What do you mean?” 

“Surely you’ve read about it in history books,” Henry says, watching intently as Alex opens his mouth to shove the slice in. Henry has to admit that the pizza, like that massive burger, is quite delicious. The food of this time makes the food of his own time look terribly bland and horrible.

“Not really. I took, like, one European history class and it was in high school.”

“Well,” Henry sighs, unsure of how two express his gran’s terrible reign, “she doesn’t like people who are different. Essentially, she would like for all of England to be white nobility. She’s obsessed with legacy and decorum and upholding the beliefs of the old monarchy.”

“What do you mean ‘different?’” Alex asks, looking actually interested in what Henry is saying. 

Henry fiddles with the signet ring on his finger, twirling it between his fingertips. “Well, for starters, my sister had an opium issue,” he explains. “And my Gran did not take kindly to that.” 

“Oh, right. The opioid crisis.” 

Henry shrugs it off, figuring it’s some term beyond his years. “Anyway, so there’s that. Then there’s my father who was an actor at a local theater.” 

Alex’s eyes grow wide. “Woah, your mom married a _commoner_? Was that allowed?” 

Henry shrugs. “Not really, but she did it anyway. She never was one for obeying the rules my gran had set out.” 

“Something tells me that you’re the same,” Alex smiles, taking another sip of his whiskey. 

Henry laughs at the thought. “Christ no,” he chuckles. “I’m bloody _terrified_ of her. I mostly just keep to myself, honestly. I do what’s expected of me.”  
“Like your wedding?”

Henry pales a bit. “Er, yes. Like my wedding.”

“Sorry,” Alex says, running a nervous hand through his curls, “I just got the vibe that you didn’t want to get married to that chick. Ya know, since you left in the middle of the rehearsal dinner or whatever.”

“I suppose that’s right,” he hums. “I just…it was what was expected of me, so that’s what I did. I courted her, proposed to her, and everything. We were…we were going to get married and have children. Continue the bloodline and all of that.”

“What did you want, though?” 

Henry doesn’t understand the question. He raises an eyebrow as he tries to process it. 

He’s never been asked what _he_ wants before. He’s always just been told what he wanted and told what to do––his own feelings have never been taken into consideration. And now, faced with this question for the first time, he isn’t sure that he has an answer. What _does_ he want? Happiness, he supposes, but how? What does that even mean to him? He used to think that, by doing whatever he was told to do, he could find happiness somewhere along the way. Madeline was perfectly nice, though, of course, not his type at all, so he thought he could maybe have a friend in her, at least. Someone to confide in and talk to. But when he looks at Alex and his sparkling eyes and his dashing smile and the dirty words that spill from his pink lips, Henry thinks that he had it all wrong before. Without this in his life, he could never truly be happy. His happiness––what he _wants_ ––is Alex. 

“I’m not really sure,” he says, hoping his answer is sufficient. He clears his throat. “So, tell me about yourself. What do you want?” 

Alex launches into a monologue about his life––his family, his schooling, his plans for the future––and Henry listens to every word while wishing that this is the life he could wake up to every day. He wishes that he could live in this world that Alex lives in with gay men and bright colors and magical boxes that show him wonderful pastries. He wishes, more than anything, that he could just be this happy for the rest of his life. But he knows that, one day, he’ll have to go back home and then the world will be grey once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're still enjoying it!
> 
> As always, come find me on tumblr @bibliothesoph and yell at me if you want to :) always love to hear from you lovely humans <3

**Author's Note:**

> Heyyy, is this trash? It might be trash. Let me know if it's trash.


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